Dancing With Mitchell
by loveofmylonglife
Summary: Annie/Mitchell fluff. It's been a long time since Annie's ever danced with anyone.


She stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom. This had eerie echoes of when she practiced revealing herself to Owen. She had the urge to repeat 'be not afraid,' but she refrained. She opened the bathroom cabinet. All her make up was still there. Foundations, creams, bottles, eyeshadows, brushes, all in a neat little pink bag. She couldn't use any of those now, she thought as she closed the cabinet again. She fluffed her hair up and flashed a model smile at herself. Was that sexy? Or was that repulsive? She sighed. Why was it so important anyway? Would Mitchell actually care how she looked? He didn't look at her half the time anyway. Apart from the time he'd told her she looked great.

She caught herself blushing in the mirror like some Victorian heroine and sighed in frustration. She would be just fine. She'd just go downstairs, make a nice cup of tea, perhaps try and pull the fridge out and clean behind it. Just normal, every day things. She'd be absolutely fine. Breathing in and out on more time, she opened the door of the bathroom and walked down the stairs slowly, regaining her usual smile and bounce in her step. Until she walked into the living room. Where she found Mitchell.

He was lying on the couch, a cigarette in his hand. He was looking nowhere in particular, but his eyes were closed as he tipped his head back, and music was playing in the background. Some guitars….some man speaking, Annie couldn't really make it out. All she saw was him. He was wearing his checked shirt, his jeans slung across his hips, his gloved hand gently lifting his cigarette to his lips, the other hand in his pocket as he lay peacefully on the couch. Annie stared, stock still for a few moments.

She watched as he took a long, slow drag on his roll up, pulling it away from his mouth to blow out the smoke before slowly inhaling it through his nose, his head tipped back as he sighed quietly, just enjoying the moment. She was careful not to make any noise as she tiptoed quietly across the room to the kitchen doors, just wanting to make a cup of tea.

"Annie."

The two syllables were said slowly but deliberately and she stopped and turned. She couldn't see Mitchell from this angle. All she saw was a steady plume of smoke rising from the couch.

"Why are you so quiet?"

"You looked busy," she explained in a fluster.

"I don't think I look very busy."

He turned his head to poke it into her line of vision, smiling at her.

"Come lie down."

He motioned to the couch parallel to his and she complied, lying down to face him. He turned his body to look at her and they giggled for a second.

"See? This is nice. Just relaxing…lying down. You forget how peaceful it is to lie down and just do nothing."

"It is quite nice, actually," contemplated Annie, resting her cheek on her palm.

"Especially for you, you work too much," he gestured to her with his cigarette, "You should cut down on the work."

"I'm a ghost, I'm hardly going to get tired out," she laughed.

"No, that's not what I mean. Don't use housework as a way of getting your mind off what you've been through. Running away from a problem never solves it."

As soon as the words slipped from his lips, he realised how hypocritical he sounded. That's what he'd been doing for the past few weeks and now he was telling Annie to take the moral high ground. He looked back at her and her face was set in a soft frown.

"But if I don't keep myself busy….I remember."

She sat up and her knees pulled together, her head lowered to inspect the way her fingers played with her pearl ring.

"And I don't want to remember. You wouldn't want to either if you'd seen what I'd seen. Felt what I felt….you don't know what it was like, Mitchell."

And all of a sudden, she looked so small. So vulnerable, like a child. Her bottom lip was stuck in a gentle pout, her eyebrows furrowed, her fingers fidgeting. But her emotions were far from childish, he could see it in her eyes. The pain of remembering, a pain he knew all too well.

"When was the last time you danced, Annie?"

The question caught her off guard and she looked up at him quizzically. He didn't reply, but took a long, slow drag on his cigarette again.

"I….dunno."

"I mean danced with someone else, not by yourself."

She stared at him. How did he know that she danced while making tea, or danced in the kitchen, all by herself, to whatever came on the radio? He hadn't been watching her, had he? A smile crept over his face as her eyes widened.

"I don't know…..I guess sometime when I was alive. With Owen."

No glimmer of sadness passed across her face when she said his name, not like before. Mitchell's eyes softened as she stared at him plaintively, wondering why he was asking such a question.

"Do you want to dance, then?"

He got up and stubbed out his roll up, swinging his feet onto the carpet and striding over, offering his gloved hand. She looked up at him, suddenly all a-fluster.

"Wh….what?"

"Do you want to dance with me?"

His face was plastered in a wide smile and her shoulders dropped. How could anyone not melt at the sight of that smile? She laughed and took his hand, standing up as he pulled her into the middle of the room, but paused as she heard the music. Some man wailing about his mistress.

"What is this? Is this what you listen to?"

"Come on, you don't like it? Velvet Underground, Venus in Furs, 1967. It's one of the best songs, just listen to the music…."

He began to sway, almost like he was in a trance. Annie stared at him.

"It just sounds like a load of instruments screeching to me."

Mitchell clocked out of his trance and laughed, reaching over to change the vinyl.

"Okay, maybe this is more your thing, then."

Placing the needle on, he walked back to her slowly, watching the look on her face as a slow wartime waltz began to play. She was entranced by soft lilting tones and his eyes lit up as her smile grew. He took her hand and placed his own on her waist, smiling as she placed hers on his shoulder.

"Glenn Miller. Moonlight Serenade. 1939. People went crazy when this came out."

She smiled as he looked up at him, swaying and moving to the slow violins. She could imagine a wartime dancehall, men in their uniforms, girls with stiffly curled hair, dancing with their sweethearts before they got shipped off to war. Annie's mind drifted as she raised her eyes to meet Mitchell's. He didn't break his step as he looked down at her, smiling at her reaction to the music.

"1939," she mused quietly, looking up at him, "Were you alive, then?"

"Yes."

"Did you fight in the war?"

"Yes."

His answers were short, but not curt. There was a friendly silence as Annie looked at him, wondering what those eyes had seen. On the surface, he looked like a young twenty-something, but he'd fought in both wars. The things he must have seen, must have done. Mitchell met her eyes. She didn't know what he'd seen in his Purgatory.

"When were you born?"

Mitchell twirled her around slowly, pulling her back to him, replacing his hand on her hip, feeling her weightlessness against him.

"1893."

Annie's eyes widened.

"18…93? So you're…you're…."

"117," he replied calmly, with a slight smile as he swayed to the music, moving Annie with him, amusing himself by her boggled visage. She stayed like that for some time, marvelling at the man next to her. How was he able to confront modern day life? Watch TV, go shopping, read newspapers? How much had the world changed since he was born? All those comments she heard about young people not respecting their elders anymore, not realising the sacrifices they made in the war. And this man standing next to her, he'd made those same sacrifices.

"What was it like?"

She didn't have to explain what she meant.

"It was…" he twirled her again, pressing her back to his chest, his arms intertwined with hers as his chin rested on her shoulder, "It was….bloody. I didn't know what I was doing half the time. I was only a teenager the first time…I lost my way."

She understood what he was saying. How it must have felt when he saw Herrick. When he had to make that deal. When a whole horrid world opened up in front of him. He was so young. And now…

"Do you ever feel like people don't care? Nowadays, I mean…they don't care about the sacrifices you made. How you fought for your c—"

"We didn't fight for our country. That slogan was what lured us into it. We fought for ourselves. We fought to stay alive, we fought to eat and drink and not be buried under tonnes of rubble in some battlefield with an amputated leg."

His tone was bitter and Annie was shocked. She turned to face him again, but wrapped her arms around him this time, guiding his arms to wrap around her waist as they swayed. He looked down at her, his eyes on fire.

"It was brutal, Annie. It was brutal, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Every time, Germany, Austria, France, Falklands, Iraq, Afghanistan. Wherever you go, it'll always be the same. War is the one thing that never changes."

He wasn't listening to the music now, his face was cast to one side and Annie realised she was the only one swaying now. His teeth were gritted and she could almost see the memories replaying themselves, flitting behind his dark eyes.

"But love doesn't change either."

His gaze flicked back to her face.

"George. Me. We'll never change. We'll always stay with you, Mitchell. We'll always be there."

Her eyes were earnest as she looked up at him, raising her hands to his face, cupping it gently, forcing him to look at her. His eyes softened as he heard her words.

"Always?"

"Always. Me and George. Because we're your friends, Mitchell. We're your friends."

He wrapped his arms back around her waist and began to sway with her very slowly, looking down at her.

"You are my friends."


End file.
